Put Down the Shovel

Today I frowned and asked, "is my face getting fat? It is, isn't it?"

Michael sighed, shook his head and said, "you should know that that is clearly one of the 105 things you should never ask your husband."

I concurred but reflected (and hereby blog about, with his permission) on the many well-meaning things he has answered or responded to...and never should have. The following snippets are to be taken humorously, as I have eventually done, in response to my husband's endearing, well-meaning attentiveness.

Michael was trying to hasten my nightly bathroom routine so we could finally go to bed for the night. As I stood in front of the mirror popping a zit, he said, "stop popping that zit honey, really. You have so many others anyway."

A couple of weeks ago we went shopping in a non-maternity store, and though I tried on dresses with empire-style waists that technically fit, they far from flattering. I moped out of the store, stating, "I looked like an elephant!" The response: "But honey, you are an elephant. You're pregnant."

In the middle of a tender moment, the kind that you might see in a Hallmark commercial, Michael had been looking at my growing belly with fondness, and having a conversation with the baby inside. Then he looked at me sweetly and said, "do you want me to shave your belly hair?" I started to cry. I knew that pregnancy hormones are supposed to give you crazy hair growth, but as I sputtered to Michael, "I didn't evenknowIhadhaironmybelly'causeI'mtoobigtoseeeeeeeit!" And no, please don't shave it. This is the farthest from an intimate activity I could imagine.

And speaking of bellies..."whoooooaah, what is that purple stuff around your belly button? It's like, all over!" (Refer to blog entry, A word about stretch marks.) I give him credit by trying to soften the blow with encouraging false information: "oh honey, it's not like they're permanent."

One morning, trying to roll out of our king-sized bed, and needing a bit of assistance, I scowled as Michael noted, "we're going to have to get a crane soon."

To give Michael credit, he is, of course, not the only one to dish out well-meaning comments that cause my jaw to drop and self-esteem to take a ride to the basement. Some of my faves:

"You can't hide it any longer!"

"Wow, 28 weeks along... are you sure you have just one in there?"

"You have the same problem I had. You have no torso so there's nowhere for it to go but out."

"Do you feel puffy today? You look a little puffy."

"He's going to be a big boy, isn't he?"

I completely recognize the overabundance of hormones in my system these days, and that hearing a well-meaning comment can be taken completely the wrong way on my part. I understand that people just want to connect, want to say something, to let you know they're paying attention. Sometimes a little too closely.

For those of you who may be wondering if there is anything you can say to a pregnant woman that will not be misconstrued or blown out of proportion, I have three words for you that will go far, every time: "You look great." And just leave it at that.